Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. (s-rist, Proprietor. J An Jnbcpcnbcnt Jamilg ficiospaprr: Jtr t|c promotion of fjjc political, Social, ^gritalfural anb Commercial Interests of tjic SoutJ). | TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 30. YORKYILLE, S O., THURSDAY, MAY 15, 1884. N"Q. QO. Jtlcctcd foritg. GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY, She stood at the bar of justice, A creature wan and wild; In form too small for a woman, In features too old for a child, For a look so worn and pathetic Was stamped on her pale young face, It seemed long years of suftering Must have left that silent trace. "Your name," said the Judge, as ho eyed her With kindly eyes, yet keen; "Is Mary McGuire, if you please, sir," ; "And your age?" "I am turned fifteen." "Well. Mary," and then from a paper He slowly and gravely read, ' "You are charged here?I'm sorry to say it? With stealing three loaves of bread. "You look not like an offender, And I hope that you can show The charge to be false. Now, tell me, Are you guilty of this, or no ?" A passionate burst of weeping Was at first her sole reply, ;' > But she dried her eyes in a moment And looked in the Judge's eye. "I will tell you just how it was, sir, My father and mother are dead, And my little brother and sisters Were hungry and asked me for bread. At firot T oarnorl it fnr thflm By working hard all day, But somehow times were bad, sir, And the work all fell away. "I could get no more employment: The weather was bitter cold, The dear ones cried and shivered? Little Johnny's but four years old? So. what was I to do, sir? I am guilty, but do not condemn, I took?oh, was it stealing f? The bread to give to them." Every man in the court-room? Gray-beard and thoughless youth? Knew, as he looked upon her, That the prisoner spake the truth. Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, Out from their eyes sprang tears, And out from old, faded wallets, Treasures hoarded for years. The Judge's face was a study? The strangest you ever saw, As he cleared his throat and murmured Something about the law. For one so learned in such matters, So wise in dealing with men, He seemed, on a simple question, Sorely puzzled just then. But no one blamed or wondered, When at last these words they heard: "The sentence of this young prisoner Is, for the present, deferred." And no one blamed him or wondered, When he went to her and smiled, And tenderly led from the court-room Himself the "guilty" child. ilte #torg idler. A WIFE'S CHARM. A pout upon the red lips of Gerald Sinclair's young wife?unmistakably a pout? for though a wife of almost two years, her fond, indulgent husband had for the first time said nay to an openly expressed wish. L-n - * iL. ^ ine Iiincy uhu Ui me season, a gmuu uuu fashionable assemblage, was to take place during his absence, and he had said that he should prefer she would not attend. She was only 20. Let this much be said in extenuation of the two great tears that rose to the brown eyes and slowly trickled down the pretty face, splashing on to the dainty morning dress, which, clinging to the dainty form, revealed so perfectly its . graceful outlines. Certainly, Niobe had no reason to feel ashamed of this one of her children. But Gerald Sinclair had only stopped and kissed away the glistening drops, in a half-hurried manner, perhaps to hide his awakening remorse. "Never mind, little wife. I'll make it up to you another time." Then he was gone ; but she sat still, turning and re-turning her wedding ring, with eyes bent upon it. It was a curious ring?a solid band, set with five large diamonds. It had been her charm, her talisman, not to be taken from her finger until soul and body had parted ; but this morning it had lost its charm. If it failed to scatter the clouds, it failed to bring back the sunshine. Even when the hour came round for Gerald's home-coming, he missed his usual warm welcome; but he thought that he might trust his wife's heart and said noth nu x -"? 1 x,1 LU mg. ine next uny ne siaritu un ms juuiney. "You're not going, my dear ?" exclaimed Mrs. Martin, bursting in upon her friend on the morning of the ball. "And why not ?" "Gerald is away," replied Mrs. Sinclair, with some little show of wifely dignity, as though the fact were in itself sufficient explanation. "And why need that make any difference ?" pursued Mrs. Martin, a bewitching little widow some few years her friend's senior. "I will share my escort with you? Count Belzoni!" Sophie Sinclair looked up amazed. She knew that the man mentioned had but lately gained an entree into society, and knew also that her husband disliked and distrusted him. Once or twice she had seen his eye fixed admiringly upon herself, and had felt somewhat as the bird might feel beneath the basilisk glare of the serpent. "Well, why don't you answer?" continued Mrs. Martin. "Will you go ?" "No, no," she replied tryingto speak with firm decision. "Besides, I do not think that Gerald admires the count." "Prejudice, my dear, all prejudice. The count is one of the most charming and agreeable men I know. Indeed, I think I should be canonized for my willingness to share his attentions, especially as I have heard him say all manner of pretty things about you." "Nonsense, Ellen," retorted Mrs. Sinclair. But she felt the ground slipping beneath t iier ietH as SIIU apuats. After all Gerald had not said positively no! Had he thought it necessary after he had openly expressed his disapprobation of her going? He had not known that she would be so so sorely tempted. Besides she would wear a mask. No one would know her; and when she told Gerald he would forgive her. A sudden thought came to her. "I will go," she said at last, after continued urging, and looking at the picture in all its brightest lights, "on the condition, and that is that no one is to know me?not even the count. Say that you have persuaded a friend to accompany you, who wishes to remain unknown. I will come to your house, where he will find me, and thus gain no clue. So it was decided; but, in spite of her exquisite costume of a fairy as she concealed it and herself beneath a large domino, as the clock of her mantel chimed ten, it seemed to Sophie that every stroke said: "Stay! stay!" She was was almost tempted to obey it, but she had promised Ellen; and, after all, she had heard that it was well for young wives to assert themselves. An hour later and, on the Count Belzon's arm, she entered upon the brilliant scene. So far he had not even seemed curious to ascertain her identity. She experienced at this a singular sense of relief. The ball was at its height as the clock rang out the hour of midnight, but for the first time in her life light and gayety were distasteful. A hundred times she wished herself at home. "I will tell Gerald. I have already been punished," she whisped to herself, as she stood for a moment alone in a quiet corner. "You look more like a nun than a fairy? rather like one who had foresworn the vanity of the world, than a siren to tempt men to their destruction," said a voice close to her, "though to the latter I know no one more fitted." "Sir!" she exclaimed indignantly, recognizing, as she spoke, the count standing at her elbow. "Ah, you thought I did not know yoi I should penetrate any disguise you won Besides you have forgotten to remove badge of recognition." She followed with her eyes his dowr ward glance, and saw that it rested on hi hand, ungloved, as in better accord wit the exigencies of her costume. Involuntarily she drew it away, with th ring which had betrayed her. Denial was useless. "Since you know me, then," she sail "we will not further play a part. To th others we are masks; to ourselves we ar ourselves." "Ah, madame," he whispered, "let u rather say to the world we are ourselves, t each other we are a mask. Can men, thin you, look coldly on such beauty as you pos sess ? Can?" Indignant and alarmed, she checked hi further speech by starting forward to ei cape him. His hand closed on hers as in vise. She wrenched it from him, spran among a crowd of maskers, and so mad her way to the door. "Call a carriage for me," she directed. Ten minutes later she was within he own home. Her first impulse was to tea I off the hated costume which had caused ne such trouble; her next to throw herself on th bed and sob out her excitement and contri tion. The morning sun, streaming into he room, awoke her. With a shudder, she remembered th events of the past night. She looked dow at her hand?the hand which had been po' luted by another's touch?us though in som way she expected to find the contaminatio branded on its soft white surface. It was ai unmarred; but?she looked again?she rut bed her eyes and looked?the color mean while fluttering: out of her cheeks, and he pale lips quivering, as if her heart seeme to stand still in a sudden agony of fear; fo from the third finger was missing talismani ring. When and where had she lost it, and ko\ could she now find the courage to confess ai to Gerald ? She rose and dressed, revolvin this problem in her minds. At any hour her husband might returr For the first time she dreaded to meet himdreaded to look into his kindly, handsom eyes and read there all his incredulous r? proach, mingled perhaps with scorn an< anger. The day wore on. Her friend, Mrs. Mai tin ran in to scold her for her desertion ; bu her pale face and trembling tones mad good her plea of sudden illness. At nightfall Gerald arrived. She thre\ herself into his arms in a burst of nervou weeping ; but when he wonderingly aske< its cause, her courage failed her. Whv was it she never imatrined that h might look stern until to-day ? A week passed, when one evening, sittin in the twilight, a step sounded close besidt She looked up to discover the count. "Pardon !" he began, in answer to her in dignant, questioning look. "Why raus you be so cruel ? May I not now see you ? "Sir, I command you to leave me. I at now under the protection of my own roof. He was about to answer, when a latch ke; was heard inserted in the outside door. In an instant he had sprung into som place of concealment, but the tact that h was near lent to the young wife a sudde courage, born of the moment's desperation Her husband, entering, approached her, bu she motioned him back. "Gerald," she said, "I have a bitter con fession to make. It is fitting you shoul hear it now." He listened with arms folded across hi breast, while she told him all the story c that fUted night. "And is this all?" he questioned bitterly when she had paused. "No, not all," she continued, raising he voice. "My confession has another witness who has forced his hated preseuce agai upon me. The Connt Belzoni is here again Gerald." As she spoke she drew aside the curtain but the form she expected to disclose wa gone, the open window attesting to its flighl Silently the husband drew a naper fror his pocket, and showed her a paragraph ol fering a reward for the arrest of a thief an swindler known as the Count Belzoni. "My darling," he said, "my little wif I has learned a lesson she will never for^ei I have known this story all the time, bu have waited until you eame to tell it to me I returned the night of the ball, to take yo with me, when I found you had gone. Inr agine what I suffered, and my added suffei ing when, arriving at the scene ot enjo> ment, where I had followed you, I disco\ ered who was your companion. I stoo near you, and heard the words he addresse to you?heard with joyful heart your ar swer ; saw you wrench your hands from hi hold, and also saw what you did not, th sparkle of the ring he drew from your fir ger. Poor little girl! I watched you haste through the crowd, and knew that you ha already met your bitterest punishment. 1 has been through my efforts that the coun has been traced and exposed. Only thi morning I recovered your ring from th man with whom he had pledgea it as sect rity. Once more I place it on your fingei But remember, darling, it is only the oul ward charm. A wife's true talisman is he husband's honor. Earth Tremors.?Earth tremors pre duced by artificial disturbances, such as th passing of carriages or trains, the move meats 01 macninery or oouiesoi peopie, ar at our disposal for daily observation. A Greenwich Observatory the tremulous mc tion in the soil, especially noticeable o bank holidays and at all times when Greer wich Park was unusually crowded, resulte in the construction of an apparatus in whic the dish of mercury used in the determine tion of the collimation error of the transi circle was suspended by flaccid springs By means of this contrivance the tremulou motions of the ground were absorbed befor they reached the mercury, and the difficult; of observation was overcome. French er gineers, working with delicate surveyin instruments in crowded cities, have simi larly been compelled to suspend a portion c their apparatus, so that a steady image coul be obtained. Prof. H. M. Paul, seeking fo a site for the Naval Observatory at Wash ington, found that the image of a star re fleeted from a tray of mercury, was di.c turbed by a train passing at the distance c a mile. Lieut.-Col. Palmer, when engage* in observing the transit of Venus in Ne\ Zealand, discovered that a ditch a few fee in depth, was sufficient to entrench his in struments against the disturbance create by trains passing at a distance of 700 yards Capt. Penman found the effect of a good train to be transmitted 1,100 feet ove marshy ground, but vertically above th train, passing through a tunnel in sand stone, the disturbance extended only 10 I feet. One result obtained from these am I numerous nHipr nhsprwitions 11 nonartificial ly produced tremors, indicates that thes disturbances are superficial, and althougi they may creep up the surface of a gentl; sloping hill, their spread is checked by steep cutting.?Nature. Doing Good.?Nothing is so certain t bring genuine happy smiles to our owi faces as to watch such smiles grow in thos of others as the result of ourown sympathy our gentle words or hopeful deeds. Whc I ever did a real kindness for another withou } feeling a warm glow of satisfaction cree i into some shady corner of the heart, and fil it with sweetness and peace? It is like fa.c teniug a knot of violets and mignonette i the button-hole, just where their perfum may rise deliciously to our sense all day And what a pleasure it will be when th present trouble is over, to remember, the even in darkest days we found time and in clination to give to others some portion c that tenderness or practical helpfulnes which was the overflow of that generou spirit which finally bore us through it all, t a happy and peaceful ending! "Rejoic with them that do rejoice, and weep wit them that weep."?HnmehoUJ Gazette. i | ^wtdlaocous leading. ^ For the Yorkvllle Enquirer. ir THE TEMPLE OF MYSTERY. h BY IKGOMAR. ie , SECOND NIGHT. j Again I wander in dead of night; again g I seek Fays and Elfins bright ; though e when I last did quit their fane, I vowed I'd ne'er return again. The Elves then treated is me quite rough, and so I left them in a huff; o but soul that's thirsting for "more light," k forgets the troubles of one night; and so J" once more I do invade the Mystic Fane,?a [S higher grade?"Most Excellent"?I fain i- would learn, so through the air I take a turn, a and then descending to the ground I am by ? Elves most firmly bound with "cable-tow" e wound "six times" round, and then in this peculiar fix I'm led to door and give knocks "six," when door swings ope, but with great care, and Master Elf says?Who comes there? A worthy "brother" I reply, as to * the Elf I now draw nigh; I've "entered," "passed," been "raised," "advanced"?and [' in his eyes I firmly glanced ;?I've been ir "inducted" to the "chair," and though then treated rather queer, I still do crave?] crave ? "more light," and seek your fane in dead of , night. Is it of your free-will?accord?you ftaalr ^MaoI T?vga1 lonf'l T?lfln'u wnr/1 9 ftouo 3CCIV 1UUOI JLJAUV/IIV'41 U XJ1UU g Tiuiu 0 Deacon Elf, for Youth, believe me,?and [j don't attempt for to deceive me-\ve none 11 receive against their will, although "imposters" we do kill; of your free will dost make l~ request? and then with "key-stone" to my * breast, as to the Elf I now draw rear, I 11 whisper gently in his ear a word whose im,r port well he knows, and then wide ope the c door he throws; and thus his greeting cold and stony, smiles to my "Giblem" or v "Rabon'i," "Most Excellent" I am now d made, and Elves who did me first evade % now gather round,?I feel the tips of fingers pressed in "grip of grips." The "copse' stone" now they celebrate, and though the - night is waxing late procession's lormea 6 'gainst "course of sun," whilst joyous Elves -- an anthem'sung; and crowning work they d did adorn by singing song?"All hail to morn." A "Tabernacle" now I see, and pass the it door with "Rabon'ibut through its halls e as I do march I pass beneath a "livingarch," and wonder much why arch so low?whose v recess dark no light doth show?should by s the Elves be reared for me, but that, they d say, is their mystery: and faith I find it so indeed, for from its roughness I now bleed, e I'm kicked and cuffed while fast I'm bound, and then knocked spra\vlingon the ground! g 0 tim'rous Youth, I pray beware; be not entrapped into their snare; for those same Elves will laugh and smile as to their fane i- they you beguile; but once you pass within it its gates, like ghostly Gnomes or cruel Fates " they'll torture you, and laugh with glee at n groanings of your misery. They'll lead you " round, and round, and round, 'neath "living y arch" they will you pound until you're sore and sick with fright before they lead you to e the "light": you'll think, indeed, you are e in hell, and naught is wanting but the smell n that fills Erebus dark and dread, as rouud, i. and round in dark you're led; your soul it will blanch with very fear, yet torturing Elf will say with leer?0 trusting Youth, i- pray do not fear, for oft that dreary road he's d tread, and trusting soul as often led from out the darkness into light; but as you creep s along in fright that everlasting "living arch " if will from the bravest take the starch: it seems one long perpetual tomb enshrouded r in the deepest gloom! Meanwhile I'm to an "altar" led and take an obligation dread. r I swear to keep and defend with word, and 5 tongue, and strong right hand, the secrets ' XI x _ .X ,1 X XI f ^ n iney 10 me imparl, ana treasure uiem in "faithful heart," and to defend a "brother's" ' cause (and this is madea special clause),?his . cause defend with all my might, no matter ' whether wrong or right, and wish my u "skull" from head smote off if e'er I should ~ divulge or scoff; my "brain" to be "exposed p. to sun" when at "high twelve"?meridian,? ^ if I should e'er a "traitor" be to Elfin's sacred mystery. e Once more the "Chapter" round I go, and l now my eyes behold the glow of "Burning 1 Bush," on "Horeb's mount," and while my , trials I recount I hear a voice call?"Moses! ' Moses!" and flaming bush it now discloses . a flood of light in harmony with awful .3 "Voice" from "Deity." And Moses answers?Here am I: the "Voice" then says? ~m 0 draw not nigh, but put thy shoes from off ^ thy feet, for to "Adonai" it seems meet to j sanctify the spot of ground whereon thou . standest?'tis holy ground. I am the God " of Abraham, who on this Mount did offer e ram in sacrifice and praise to me, and from his sins I set him free; of Isaac, and of " Jacob, too, and now I'd be a God to you: so j kneel thee down and hide thy face, "three > times" again thy steps "retrace" be not stiff-necked, nor mock thy God, for I do js chasten with a rod: remember "Zedekiah's" e reign, how him I smote with sword and flame, and vials of wrath I poured upon the wicked people who did wrong; how them I l' sent to "Babylon," and "servants" there " of them I made, and "seventy years" they "captive" stayed; But while the "Voice" did thus discourse a "shock of battle's" felt in force, and rumbling sound of >- cannon ball doth now my trembling heart e appal, and clash of swords doth tell that i- strife and fierce contention is now rife. A e pandemonium doth prevail, yet over the t din I hear the wail and groanings sad which )- tell of death, but as in dark I'm groping n yet I tremble as each shock I feel of mighty i- hosts, who now doth reel and swoon from d loss of blood; yet now their standard's h planted on the brow of rampart high, and i- bugle's call doth sound the onset?the gates it now fall, and fair "Jerusalem's" wet with 5. blood which flows now like a mighty flood is its streets along. While tumult reigns I'm e "captive" bound by soldiers fierce, who y swear my heart with sword they'll pierce if i- opposition I do make, or from my eyes the g "hood-wink" take ; but soon I'm "rescued" I. Kit 4-K a T?niro it?K a Kfinr* tv?rv fA??f K tli lAlirl i ijy l-uc jl ?n\j uuii? lunu hiui k/uu >f hurrahs; they tell me that I'm now quite d free, that "Cyrus" proclaimed liberty; so >r thinking that my path will be lit with light i- from mystery, I say I wish for to proceed 5- and temple build, as 'twas agreed a second J- temple built should be for use of Elves and >f Mystery. "I am that I am" says guiding d Fay, as onward now he led the way; but v lo, as onward now I march I butt my head 't 'gainst "living arch." Stoop low, O Youth, i- he says to me; humble, if you'd exalted be: d good and wise have traveled this road, although 'tis rugged and bestrewed with many s pitfalls dark and dread as caverns where rer pose the dead. This road leads out from e Babylon; 'twill lead you to Jerusalem, where 1- "signet" of "Zeorubbabel" Companion Elf 0 will always tell; but I would that signet d were in?well, I'll skip that word, though 1- tongue can't tell the woes and tortures that e befell, or that my pathway now beset, as I h thump, aud bump, and worry and fret, as | y over the dismal "Rugged Road" I slowly j a drag myself along, ana "living arch" seems j ten miles long. O curious Youth, beware, I j say, and ne'er be led by Elf or Fay along n this "rnpped road" to strav: for if you do I v " "OO 1/ f v . n you'll rue the night that placed you in such j e fearful plight. Take warning, then, by i what I say, and after dark with Elves ne'er >- stray ; for though they coax with wink's sly j t glance they'll lead you through a devil's j p dauce: thev'll wring your soul with torture, 11 grief, and death would seem a glad relief s- from countless woes they'll heap upon the j n wight who seeks the "Widow's Son," or e lessons take in mystic art?I swear they'll \ almost break vour heart, e "Jerusalem" I reach at last; the "rugged it road" at last is pass'd: "1 am that I am" | i- says do not fail, proceed at once to the "first >f veil." But when at "first veil" I do call, j >s its "captain" does my soul appal, and says , is in words which make me quail? What seek : o .you at the outer veil t A weary "pilgrim" j e I reply, as to the Captain I draw nigh, a ' h weary pilgrim who would build but j his stern looks my speech hath chilled Ere ' you another word now mention, tell me, young Elf, what's your intention ? For to rebuild, O Captain great, the house of God, for 'tis most meet that Elves who got their liberty, without reward and without fee should to the work assistance give. My words did please;?Now as I live, "Most Excellent" Elf indeed you are to wander here from land afar; yet beyond my "veil" you may not go without my "words" and "sign" to show to Captain of the "second veil"?they will, I know, with him prevail: my "words" are "Japhet," "Shem" and "Ham," they'll take you to his veil, and then you'll cast this rod upon the ground, and 'twill like serpent wriggle 'round: 'twill to the Captain be a sign that you have fassed this veil of mine. The "second veil" now appproach, which gently yields to Elfin's touch. While "words" I whisper in his ear, he says pray enter?have no fear; "Most Excellent'' Elf indeed you are to come from Babylon afar, but yet you cannot go beyond this "veil" without my "words"? attend: also, a "sign" I fain would give that you'll remember while you live: thy hand now flushed and fair to see will soon be changed by leprosy as in "your bosom" you it thrust?(my "words" be sure you give them first): "Japhet," "Shem"and "Adoniram" Companions know who follow "Hiram" ; then thrust thy hand thy bosom in. and when you bring it forth again you'll find 'twill in an instant grow as white as banks of driven snow ; but fear not, Youth, 'twill give no pain, and soon its color will regain. The "third veil" now appears in view, and when for entrance I do sue with "words" and "sign" above explained, the "third veil's" Captain doth exclaim?Your "words" and "sign" I know right well, but "Haggai," "Joshua," and "Zerrubbabel" and "sign" you'll need to take you hence the "fourth veil" to, and then from thence you'll enter our bright "Tabernacle," where you'll be freed from "hoodwink"?shackle. My "sign" is this: cold water pour from out this goblet on the floor, and like the Nile, whose mighty flood by Aaron's rod was turned to blood, so will the water that you pour from out this goblet on the floor. Proceed, young Elf. I wish you joy, for the "light" you seek is drawing nighj 'twill soou your thirsting soul illume like floating incense whose perfume doth fill the soul with bliss and joy when swung from censers bright on high. As onward now I boldly march I meet the ?uard of "Royal Arch as "words" and "sign" I give to him, his "veil" aside he now doth fling, when, lo ! a wond'rous flood of "light" now greets my eyes, for 'tis as bright as blaze of sun in clear blue sky! I am at last from troubles free, and "High Priest" on his throne I see : my soul 'tis sated now with "light," glorious, wond'rous. beautiful, bright, like rays that from brignt Hope's star shine, which fills the soul with blissdivine. The High Priest asks if I can tell the "signet" of "Zerrubbabel," or if the "signet" I can show before I'm led to chamber low?to chamber down beneath the ground, to which I'm lowered with rope around my body tight:?He says, O Youth, shew me the signet we call "Truth." The signet in his hands I place, he holds it up close to his face ; to "King" and "Scribe" hedoesitshow, and asks them if they do it know, and each proclaim?O valiant Youth, this is the signet we call "truth." Across their foreheads each it draw, and thus comply with Elfin law; and then assert with one accord?"This is holiness to the Lord." Now "working tools" they do provide, and with "Companions" by my side I work in darkness all around until my "pick" makes ringing sound, as something hard it strikes in ground ; so stooping down amid the gloam I now descry a neat "Key-Stone." To "Council Grand" I take my prize, and gladness shines in each Elf s eyes, who then assert in low, faint whisper?'Tis "Hiram's Key-Stone" of "Mark-Master." My research still I do pursue, though hidden now from mortal view, and in a "vault" where no light glares I now do find "three trying squares." To High Priest I do them present ; he says?0 Youth, I'll you acquaint: these are the "jewels" of our "Order" which had been lost 'mid the disorder and ruin of our Temple fair (they are to Elves most precious?^dear): they once belonged to "Solomon," who drafts did draw with "Widow's Son," and him of Tyre?three Elfins bright? they've long been hidden from our sight; but seek, 0 Youth, perhaps you'll find more hidden treasures which will bind you to our "Order" during life, and if amid the world's strife you need a friend, vour "triangle" will bring you Elfin friends at will. The mystic cave once more I enter, but now "sun's rays" doth blaze in center: with "right hand" I do "shade my eyes" by placing it full-length "crosswise," when lo, a "box" or "chest" I see which fills my soul with extacy. I seek the High Priest now with joy, and as he sees me drawing nigh he says?at last I am content, you've found the "Ark of the Covenant!" The "Ark of the Covenant" I found in secret vault beneath the ground, and "Book of Laws" and ^\fonno Pnf" rmf tho ^ A tha TTiorli Priest got; and now he reads with "mystic key" the "characters" ofthisdegree: Three thousand years ago, says he, these "secrets" of our mysteries by Israel's King, wise Solomon, and Hiram bright, the Widow's Son, together with the Tyrian King, our secrets they this Ark put in, to save them from the ruthless foe who laid our former Temple low ; so noble Youth, your task is over, for long lost "Word" you did recover. 'Tis voted now with one accord to give me the "Omnific Word and as we "balance" "three-times-three" the crowning "words" of their mysteries with "Lun-buh-jah" are given me, while "Vah-je-ho" and "O. d. g," are repeated "three-times-three." The Temple round we all now march, and cry?all hail to Royal Arch ! We march around, and then by "threes" (and this is the Key to our mysteries), for ere we close we pressure feel, as "hand" grasps "wrist," with "toe" to "heel,"?we pressure feel of "Livine-Arch." 'neath which we close our Elfin march. The "Omnific Word" we thus repeat, and to my ears itsounds most sweet. My trials now are passed and o'er, and like an Elfin bright I soar through halls of mystery so bright, for now my soul is filled with "light." But now daylight begins to dawn, gray streaks cast shadows o'er the lawn, and High Priest says, as round we march,? 'Tis time to close this Royal Arch. So through the air I'm whirled around, then gently lowered upon the ground ; for Elves and Fays, like goblins dark, grew weary of their mid night "lark." The nightmare vanished ; in its stead I slumbered sweetly in my bed ; and woke at last 'ueath sun's bright gleam, for like first night?I did but dream ! Tex Million Oak Wheels.?"There are more than 10,000,000 iron car wheels in iico rm Amociran rnilrnnrls " Qfiirl Hip mnq ter mechanic of one of the trunk lines, "and it requires about 525 pounds of pig iron to make one wheel. About 1,250,000 wheels are worn out every year, and the same number of new ones must be made to take their places. The iron men are called upon for only a small proportion of 312,500 tons of material required for these new wheels, however, for nearly 200,000 are supplied by the worn-out wheels themselves. Formerly the life of a car wheel was estimated at eight years, but the reduction of the railroads generally to the standard gauge, and the improvements in loading and unloading facilities, have materially decreased the length of service that a wheel may be depended on to perform. The uniformity in guage keeps cars in more continuous use, while the decrease in time of loading and unloading enables them to be put to more active service even where they are run only on short local routes. "These figures do not include the wheels on palace coaches and the better class of passenger coaches. The wheels on that grade of rolling stock are now made almost exclusively of paper. They are as serviceable as iron, ana combine lightness with strengrh, a great desideratum where speed and economy in motive power are now of paramount importance."?New York Sun. GLORY WON BY ACCIDENT. 1 HOW A SOUTHERN PRIVATE CAME TO LEAD A CHARGE. ' I carried a gun in Bowles's Battalion. We ; were mounted infanty and a part of Gen. John Morgan's command from Kentucky. ; The Yankees called us Morgan's Horse Thieves, while the inhabitants of the mountain districts of East Tennessee would ask, when they met a squad of us in a bridle path, "Does you'uns belong to Mister Morgan's critterback company?" In the spring of 'G4 Morgan's command had just come up from South Carolina, and had gone into camp at Abingdon, Virginia, when word came that Gen. Crook, the present Indian fighting hero, with Gen. Averill, was moving with a heavy force on Wytheville. We took up our line of march for that town, and right well do I remember the happv faces of the old men, the women, and chilaren who lined the curbstones of ' the nrinrinn.1 street as we rode our horses bv fours in a triumphal entry style before the admiring gaze ol these non-combatants. There were no able bodied men in Southern 1 towns in those days. On the opposite side of town, in a beatiful woodland pasture, we went into camp. Most of our horses were turned loose to graze while the men were busy building dog-houses to sleep in, or hunting wood and water. A sudden change came over the camp. The clear notes of a bugle rang out the familiar but not ominous order, "Saddle up your horses." Nearly 300 men were instantly on their feet, the officers shouting "saddle up! saddle up!" and the men calling to one another. "Bill, have you seen my mare?" "Bring that bridle back here." "Where is my blanket ?" and all the other hubbub of a hurried departure. But here and there could be seen the cool old soldier deliberately folding the blanket that answered for both saddle and sleeping purposes, smoothing out every wrinkle so as not to hurt the horse's back, placing it with great precision high up on the withers, setting the old "Texas tree" carefully over it, and drawing a deft knot in the belly band such as only an old hand can make. He mounts with ease and grace born of four years' daily practice in the saddle, and gets into line long before his fussy messmate. We were all soon in line, and the orders followed in quick succession, "By twos right into line," "March," "Trot," "Gallop" and away we went at double quick to Crokett's Cove, four miles away. It was a hot ride, and just before reaching the Cove we turned I nV\*.nn+l*T 4~r\ lnff fKrAiin-li a nolr nf htira aui uptij lis tuu iviv muvugn u ^>ui& UJ uuiui Gen. Morgan stood in the road and shouted, "Close up, men," as we galloped by him. It was evident we were making a'flank movement on the enemy, and now could be heard those first sad sounds to the practical soldier's ear?occasional shots from the dis1 tant skirmisers. To my taste there is nothing so gloriously exhilerating as the hurlyburly of a brisk fight?the rapid orders, the rattle of small arms, the boom of the big guns, the wild shout and rush ol the charge. All sense of fear is lost, and nothing is thought of but winning a glorious victory. But these first picket shots make you realize that there is death in the air, and you think of home and perhaps of religion if you've got any. Fortunately for us there was not much time for indulging in these gloomy thoughts. We were soon in "line of fight," as we always called it, and Col. Bowles rode out in front of us and at the top of his voice shouted, "Now, boys, if you want to give them the bellyache, shoot at their knees." We dismounted and rapidly moved forward taking shelter behind a rail fence. The firing was rapid, but the distance, some five hundred yards, too great to do much execution. Some one raised our old yell, "Look out for Morgan's men," everybody went over the fence, and to my surprise, the enemy's line began to fall back. It now became a running fight and kept so until about o o'clock in the afternoon, when our line brought up against a stake-and-ricler fence. The enemy was equally well posted on the brow of the opposite hill. The ground, dipped between the two lines of battle, and a creek lined with alder bushes, ran through the little valley about equi-distant between us. The enemy had made a "field hospital" near and on our side of the creek, and as we lay behind the fence we could see a number of dead horses and some men with clean white haversacks on them. These haversacks were small bags, and I became very much interested in them. We had not had a mouthful of coffee for more than four months, and, turning to the soldier by my side, I remarked : "Thompson, do you see those haversacks down there ?" A smile crept over his face as he replied that he did. "I'll bet you they are filled with coffee," said I. "You hear all these bullets going over our heads? Now, if we skirt along that fence that crosses the creek, we can slip out and lie down behind those horses, be safe, and get some coffee." "All right," he said, "if you'll start, I'll follow." No quicker said than done. Over the fence I went and Thompson after me. Just before we reached the creek, out from behind the dense alders marched obliquely a regiment of the enemy. When half way up the hill and just before we reached the horses they gave us a volley. I sat down with about six inches of bone shot out of my leg. Thompson's right arm was taken off the next day. "Buck" Smith was hit in the head and heel and was spinning around in a death struggle while I was rapidly crawling into a fence corner. Several others were hurt at the same time, but I never had an opportunity to inquire who they were, and'for the time being I was thunderstruck to know how they got there. That night four soldiers stumbled over me on the rough ground. They took me in a blanket to Farmer Crockett's house which was literally filled with wounded men. On the next morning Gen. Morgan made a hasty visit to this held hospital. I was well acquainted with him, and when he came to the bench that I lay on he took me warmly by the hand. "Hardin," said he, "that was a magnificent charge you led yesterday." I looked at him in blank amazement, but I was too good a soldier to deny the statement of a superior officer. In thinking over the msitter I remembered there was a rush of men past me just after I was shot, and on inquiry I learned that when Thompson and I went over the fence the rest of the command followed like a flock of sheep, and did not stop until darkness made an end to the fight. I was afterwards told by a staff officer that the General had remarked that he intended making me a lieutenant on my return to the command; but, alas! the war was over before I got oft' my crutches, and the General and many of my old messmates sleep in soldier graves, while, among the myriad of surviving generals, colonels, majors, captains and lieutenants of the Confederacy, I feel lonely, as about the only soldier on that side who bore a gun.?JY. Y. Sun. A Story From the Jury Room.?The j | grand jury investigating the late riot in | I Cincinnati is believed to have been plac- j I ed in possession of testimony of a sensation-! j al character. It is pushing its investiga- f i tion, and will probably be continued for J [ some days to come. Michael McGuire, i one of the jury who precipitated the trouble I by finding Berner, a self-confessed murder; er, guilty of manslaughter, made a state | ment to a reporter that throws much light! ; on the method by which that wonderful j verdict was was reached. He says that be| tween the balloting games of cards were I played for money and intimated that those ; who won were not afterwards as strenuous j for Berner's conviction. He says that after ! retiring to the jury-room the foreman, A j F. Shaw, suggested that they take a ballot at once, and urged him (McGuire) to vote "Not guilty." He threw it into the hatand then took it out and voted for murder in the first degree. He says that there was no open discussion of the question of Berner's guilt, but four of the jurors, including the foreman, held whispered consultations nf I ter every ballot was taken. The foreman,! I after one of these ballots, announced that I | it was unanimous for manslaughter. Mc-1 Guire declared it could not be possible, for ! he had voted for murder in the first degree, j I and he thought Juror Merrill had voted for j ! murder in the second degree. McGuire j I says Shaw was a good talker, and finally in-; j fluenced Merrill to vote manslaughter. As j I soon as this vote was taken they were rush- j ed out to the court-room and the verdict read, liethoughtofmakiugan explanation : to the Judge, but was deterred from doing ; so by Shaw, who told him that the Judge wanted them to return a verdict of man- j slaughter, and was pleased with it. Mc-1 Guire has been before the Grand Jury, and, I it is believed, made before it a much fuller i rt.. .1 nn ofntnivionf ttlQIl t li o rind ! auu muic auiiiiiu^ ot<ilunitiii cutvii uiv uim\s given to the press. THE RED MAN'S FOOT MARKS. No one can see Indian trails now, without his attention being suddenly awakened. There is no real difference betwen any one of these pathways and an ordinary cattle track, except, perhaps, they may be worn a little deeper; yet no one can enter upon them for the first time without being in some measure startled, and conscious that this is a roadway distinct from any he has ever seen before. They cannot have been made by cattle. Cattle tracks are generally single, or if more than one, they run independently of each other. These are exactly parallel, and there are perhaps halfg, dozen of them. They do not look as if they had been made by settlers. A j white man's road would have followed a straighter line. These are full of curves, ! and bend from one side to the other, tum| ing with every minor undulation of the ground, as though when they were laid out the distance was of no importance compared with the regularity of the grade. Their curves are always concentric. They all turn as if by one impulse, and they dip down into a valley together, or disappear behind a hill at the same time, constantly maintaining the same distance from each other. This is the first sight of an Indian trail. But at its sudden revelation one seems to * a i 1 .1 TX 1*1 1 nave comeinroasirange wonu. it may sun be the same valley, but with the obliteration of other signs of civilization, the way has taken an entirely di fferent character. Beyond the last vestige of white activity and noisy struggle, everything seems to grow quiet. All disposition to break the stillness has gone. There is no living thing in sight, but instinctively one hesitates, whether a hunter or not, to raise his voice, lest he should frighten the game, of which the woods have become the home. Silence is the natural condition of existence. A shout would be a sacrilege. The land seems given back to belong to its first inhabitants, who have been content to let it rest in a state of nature. The only marks of men are these pathways, but their easy and unresisting curves are filled with nature's spirit, and they nowhere iterrupt her repose. These simple paths have been made by horses traveling several abreast, as close together as horses with their riders can go. They have been there for hundreds, and perhaps thousands of years. They were part of a long highway, which once ended only with the limits of the Indian's wanderings; and for centuries they have been traversed by savage bands of warriors, hunters, or horse thieves.?N. Y. Sun. WHY KEROSENE EXPLODES. In the first place, kerosene never does explode. Ordinary kerosene is a mixture of oils which are converted into gas, or vapor, at different temperatures. This gas, when mixed in certain proportions with the air, forms a most explosive compound. The danger, therefore, from kerosene comes from this gas, which, of course, cannot be seen. From the best quality of kerosene all, or nearly all the oil which evaporates at a low temperature, and thus becomes explosive, has been removed. This latter oil is naptha or benzine. So long as this is kept confined, so that its vapor cannot mix with the common air, it is safe. But the moment the gas mixes with the atmosphere it becomes explosive and dangerous. These facts give the reason why it is never safe, under any circumsances to fill a lighted lamp, or to pour kerosene from a can upon a burning fire. The lamp needs filling; therefore there is a space over the oil filled with the gas of of the oil evaporated by heat and air. It is confined, and as long as the cover is screwed down no spark can get to it. But when the cover is taken off, the gas is pushed out by the oil entering the lamp, mixed still further with the common air, becomes explosive, communicates with the flame of the lamp and immediately explodes. So, too, there is explosive gas in the top of a half-emptied kerosene oil-can, and when the oil is thrown on the fire the flame communicates with that gas and causes an explosion. The sellers of cheap oil frequently declare in selling the dangerous fluid that is so safe that a lighted match 1 can be thrown into it. That this can be done with safety only shows that conditions for making the explosive gas are not met in the experiment. But if the same oil were used in a defective lamp, or with any but the extremest care, there would be an ex- ( plosion. Always remember that It Is a gas which explodes and not the oil, and that you cannot see the gas. And if you value your lives, bo sure that you do not bring a spark , near any place where there may be mixture . of air ana oil gas.? Youths Companion. Why Prairies are Treeless.?Mr. : Thomas Meehan believes that we have ] nearly reached the solution of the cause of i the absence of trees from prairies. It is not 1 climatic, for timber belts flourish in all i the prairie regions. It is not in conditions < of soil, for the prairie is the most favorable to the germination of seeds, of trees as well i as other plants, and artificial plantations are < remarkably healthy wherever they are ! made. The real cause is probably to be j found in the annual fires which have swept over the prairies from time immemorial, . Killing nit; young uera uciuic uicj uiugiun large enough to resist the heat. The seeds * of the annual plants of the prairie vegeta- 1 tion, maturing every year, are shed and 1 find protection before the tires come; the ( young trees on the other hand, bear no seed s and can leave no resources for succession 1 after they are burned. The theory is sup- * ported by the fact that growth of trees has ' set in wherever the fires have been stopped. { The fires were made by the aborigines for ( centuries before the white man came, possi- 1 bly for the express purpose, Mr. Meehan 1 suggests, of preventing the growth of trees ] and preserving the buffalo pastures. The 1 question remains how the prairies first came to be naked. They probably formed the . bottoms of the lakes and marshes that were left after the retreat of the glaciers, r and continued wet after the highlands were . covered with trees. Man followed the gla- j ciers so closely that he anticipated mo trees ? on these spots, and having learned already ? in Southern latitudes the virtue of burning J them, began before the trees gained a foothold.?Popular Science Monthly. * * * ? Nobody ever saw the the word "hum- J bug" until it was first scrawled on the walls ? of Dublin, and "skedaddle" was unknown j in our language until July 21, 1861, at the battle of Bull Run. These terms, like that of "dude," sprang into existence almost \ without volition and each in its way express- 1 ed a new shade of meaning and caught the c ear of the public. Strictly speaking the s word "dude" is applied to those who imitate J some class of English life, but a man may I be a "dude" and wear homespun. The r "dude" was not content to be a fop alone? a a mere imitator as to.eyeglass and dress? t he must imitate the language of Hounds- i ditch and the society fop of England. His \ mission is merely to stand at the cross-roads i of time, and show us where not to go.? r Judge Tourgee. r HOW TO ATTAIN OLD AGE. The Psalmist David allowed seventy years as the natural duration of life, Pythagoras placed the limit at eighty, London's hygienic philosopher, Dr. Richardson, gives us ten more, while Flourens believed that men ought to live one hundred years. There is no doubt that the physiological limit of human life has been slightly increased in the present century, and a hundred years later it may be found that old age comes on still more slowly and gently. For, with the increased uncertainty as to a future life, human energies are directing themselves with greater earnestness toward solving the problems of a more healthful and longer terrestial existence. The physiological chemist tells us that after the age of forty or forty-five, dissimilation gradually begins to exceed assimilation, and the structures of the body slowly waste. Muscle and nerve, which are the "master tissues," feel this first. The dynamic coefficient of both striped and unstriped muscle decrease after forty; the limbs become less supple, and the hollow viscera have a feeble expulsive force; the nervous system is less sensitive and plastic; impulses travel between center and periphery with more difficulty. The individual loses spontaneity, and becomes more automatic, more a creature of determined habits. The lower tissues also undergo very marked and characteristic changes. The fibrinfactors of the blood increase in amount, the bones become dried, the cartilages ossify, and the arteries especially become the seat of fatty defeneration and calcareous deposits. Dr. Richardson announces that "his experiments show" that the collodial matter (protoplasm ?) of the body in old age contains less water, and that its particles are consequently more cohesive. It is true at ommmf nf watAI* in UIJ^' ItUC) lliau Lilt LVUU UW4VU1I v v* If %?vv* the body is less. The essential fact as regards senile changes is that the metabolic function is weakened. Consequently the food, instead of being built up into good tissue, is oxidized into less complex substances. The protoplasm, the circulatory apparatus becomes weaker, the blood, stagnates, carbonic acid precipitates, and earthy salts, which it kept in solution, are deposited. Now, certain recent philosophers have thought that, by preventing these fatty and calcerous changes, old age could be delayed. A Swiss physician, a few years ago, argued that lemons, i. e., citric acid, would accomplish this end, and saw immortality in lemonade. More recently, a writer in Knowledge, Mr. W. O. Dawson, has presented a new regimen sanitatia, which he claims is the most rational and certain means of retarding old age. It consists in avoiding all food rich in earthy salts, and in taking, daily, two or three tumblerfuls of distilled water with ten or fifteen drops of dilute phosphoric acid in each glassful. The food freest of earthy salts is: fruits, fish and poultry, young mutton and veal. We can testify with Mr. Dawson that this kind of diet is harmless, but we are profoundly skeptical as to its efficiency. Old age is part of the life history of organism. There is that in the child at birth which determines very nearly when old age shall appear. Senility is a failure of nutrition. We can only delay its appearance by living a life which puts no undue strain on the organism, and by furnishing it with the easiest means of working. We cannot expect to accomplish this end by simply cutting off deleterious supplies. If one would live long, let him especially take care of his "master tissues"?the muscle and the nerve?when young. This means rational exerciseof body and a well balanced cultivation of mind. Brain workers live long, brain and muscle workers longer still. No one has yet given better advice for the retarding of old age than did Christopher Hufelana, a century ago. Let those who wish old age study him, and put no trust in distilled water.?Medical Record. True Politeness.?A poor Arab going through the desert, met with a sparkling spring. Accustomed to brackish water, a draught from this sweet well in the wilderness seemed, in his simple mind, a fit present to the Caliph. So he filled the leather bottle and after a weary tramp, laid his humble gift at his sovereign's feet. The monarch, with a magnairnity that may put many a Christian to blush, called for a cup, and drank lreely; and then with a smile he thanked the Arab, and presented him with a reward. The courtiers pressed eagerly around for a draught of the wonderful water, which was regarded worthy of such a princely acknowlegement. To their surprise, the Caliph forbade them to touch a drop. Then, after the simple hearted giver left the royal presence, with a new spring of joy welling up in his heart, the monarch explained his motive for the prohibition : "During the long journey, the water in the leather bottle had become impure and distasteful: but it was an oflferiing of love, and as such I accepted it with pleasure. T t J I if r onntl,. J. l^UrtU) IlUWCVClj tiiai 11 JL aiiUYTWu auvviier to taste it, he would not conceal his disgust. Therefore it was that I forbade you to partake, lest the heart of the poor man should be wounded." ? Politics in Mexico.?Mexico has no political conventions. The newspapers do the nominating. The papers begin a discussion of candidates about a year previous to the Presidential election. Next they "postulate" or nominate certain candidates. At the head of the paper will appear, "We postulate" so and so, naming the journal's choice. Then, on election day, the voters assemble at the polling places, and each der> written hi lint fnr nlpftnrs. who are pvyoi 10 cv niiwvvu vw**w w ? to constitute the Electoral Board of the State. This law stipulates that the ballot must be written, and a table, with paper and writing utensils, is provided besiae the ballot box, and the ballot must be written and immediately deposited under the inspection of the Supervisor. Sometimes the voters of the different parties will meet a few hours previous and agree upon some ?andidate, but usually each voter has made a choice of candidates without any pressure from party machinery. A Curious Fact About Watches.? D. H. Hopkinson,of the Jeweler's Circular, says that it is a well known fact that no watch will keep the same time with two people. He believes that it is in some way lue to the temperament of the wearer, ashe jays the mere pysical differences in gait and movement between different people is not sufficient to account for all the variations ;hat have been observed. As watches are iffected by the machines for generating ilectric light and are magnetized in iron mines so as to affect their time keeping it is >robable that the watch is affectea by the liagnetism of the individual who carries t.?Dr. Footers Health Monthly. A Poor Worker.?The bustling, hurryng man is usually a poor worker, and ac:omplishes comparatively little in a day. roo much of his steam power is expended n "kicking up a dust." The habit of hur'ying and of feeling in a hurry is fatal to jood work, and diminishes the amount )f work a man am get through with. The riction is too great. So little of practical ,ralue is accomplished, despite all the superluous expenditure of energy that he cannot jo home at night with the sweet consciousless of duty done, of a day's work eom)leted. lie has left too many stitches to be aken up. About Water.?A curious fact about vater is that it is the rust of the metal cnown as hydrogenium. When oxygen ombines with iron it forms a reddish rust, ind the metal becomes in time disintegrated. n this condition it is said to be oxidized. sTow, water is simply oxidized hydrogelium. This metal is present in the sun ind in all the planetsin enormous quantiies. Indeed it is said that the human body s composed of o* pails of water, mingled vith lime, iron and certain salts. Chemstry has revealed to us many marvels, but lone greater than the composition of comnon water.?Detnoresf's Monfhh/.